power tools, anasthetic hahaha I laugh in THEIR FACE!
Well, we all know DIY as being a right royal pain in the arse. We think we can do it 'better than the professionals' and cant be arsed/too poor to pay the gazillions 'the professionals'

Back in the summer of 2007, I had a problem...a little/big problem. A problem that was approx 1/2 an inch too big, somewhere it really shouldnt have been. Thats right, I had an ingrowing (big) toe nail.

If any of you have ever been unlucky enough to have one of these you'll know the familiar burning and throbbing that starts out in your big toe, and radiates out to the far side of your foot as you try and walk with the majority of your weight on the side.

Well, sweating like a nun in a Cucumber field, the celing fan doing its best not to cool down the heat in the room and my feet throbbing I was at my lowest. "Right, thats it, fuck it, i've had enough, if the damn docs wont sort my foot out, i'm going to" and with that I went off to collect: nail clippers, scissors, a nail file, a towel, a roll of loo paper, and a box of plasters.

I soaked my foot in a bowl of ice water, and dried it off. In hindsight I should have stopped here and enjoy the blessed relife this gave me, but no...No I didnt.

I started by clipping the small bit of visable nail, so far so good. Now I needed leverage. Taking the nail file and ignoring the huge amount of pain I was in, I positioned the file under the nail and pushed downwards, forcing the nail up a fraction of a millimeter. clip clip. I should have stopped here, but I didnt, No I didnt,

I kept on with this DIY, and when the pain got to much, I soaked my foot in the iced bowl of water, and continued occassionally stopping to mop up the blood.

By now i'm about a 1/3rd of the way down the foot and cursing for all of Mother England. My choices are clear: cut my losses, and hope ive not made things worse, or continue and remember the blessed relief i'm feeling from the top 3rd of my toe.

There wasn't a decision to be made. Im 100% comitted to my cause now despite the state of my once clean white towel now closely resembling...well, a towel that is seriously bloodied, I continued.

Now, Dear Reader, One cannot quite descibe the pain I was in at this point. Every levering action was causing me to clench my teeth, tense my neck, and my eyes to water. Imagine, if you will cutting yourself and pouring a vingar, salt, and nettle mixture of it. Well, thats kinda how it felt with a dull throb to boot.

3/4's of the way down, and im seriously beginning to get worried about the amount of blood loss. Not because i'm a wimp, but i'm pretty sure that removing something which was stopping your blood from spilling out is pretty damn bad. I watch casualty, and I know that if you're losing blood you replace that with more blood. Not having any to hand, I thought sod it and carried on.

Almost there now, and my towel, bed sheet, and the floor is looking a lovely shade of crimson. drip drip drip drip drip. Its becoming easier to cut and eventually, almost 40 mins after I started, I'd finish. The professionals would have done it for free (after an 8 month waiting list on the NHS!)

Right, well, what to do next?

These lots of blood and a massive hole in my toe. Wrapping my foot in the towel I grabbed some cotton wool. Rubbed a bit of antiseptic on the wound (hey, I was being silly enough as it is!) and plastered it up.

Do you know what? It healed! Its absolutly bloody fine!

Its not the first time I dont this...I've done something similar with verucca's!

Click I like this if you think I should retrain as a doctor...or not.
(Mon 7th Apr 2008, 15:03, More)

.
Back in t'day c2001 I was but a saleboy for a well known highstreet store that may or may not be the namesake of a certain member of Arsenal's Famous back four I'll give you a little clue, the shop is not called Winterburn, Kewon, or Bould.

It was a Saturday like any other. A clear, sunny day. Nothing out of the ordinary whatsoever. What happened next could have changed one man's life forever.

Ian (for thats his name blah blah blah). Ian is the deputy manager of the above nameless store. A medium hight, skinny lad with a bad right knee with the kind of glint in his eye that said 'there is someone home, but the lights on'. He was always on the ball, and always knew everything that was going on around him.

Sasha, a rather buxom young thing with raven black hair and an arse that could crack wallnuts (hired mostly for her looks), she could charm the wallet out of your pocket, the birds out of the trees, and superman from the sky's (ok that last one if a bit of an exaggeration, everyone knows Lois was the only one for Superman)

Several members of staff are milling about, trying to get the great unwashed to but their merchandise. Then we all have a star-trek moment. It was surreal. We all became aware of a guy running form the store and alot of shouting from Sasha about how he's half inched something. Time seemed to slow down and speed up at the same time.

This guy was a tall guy, but not muscular. He was lean and dressed in a dirty ripped white t-shirt, jeans and trainers. Carrying a holdall. As this guy ran from the store, Ian and myself (being the nearest guys) legged it after him. He jumped over one of those railings that sit on the side of the road into the oncoming traffic. Several cars screetched to a stop and this guy half ran/stumbled from the road. We got a hand on him as he tried to get away but momentum had the better of us and he was able to get away. All the while not letting go of this holdall.

Ian and I in hot persuit, we legged it down the highstreet following him. He was running full pelt, and so we were. Ian and myself arent exactly unfit, but damn this bloke must have ran professionally.

What played out next haunted me for a few weeks.

This bloke, looking back to see how close/far behind we were, didnt see a pram (or buggy for you 'merkins) emerge from a shop. The dad didnt see three lads running as if their life depended on it. This guy bundled into the pram. The baby was strapped in (luckly) but the pram went tumbling. So did he and he was cut. The dad obviously saw to the kid, who was crying like a trooper. Poor little mite.

The guy was on the floor for a few seconds, enough time for Ian and me to catch this scene of carnage, wrecking an innocent family day out. The guy reached into his holdall. Instantly we knew why he wasnt going to let go of it. He had needles. Lots of them. All dirty. With packets of powder.

Grabbing a needle, we could hear the sound of sirens in the back ground. He uttered the immortal words "come near me and i'll give you HIV" We all froze. Ian, myself, the mum and dad. Only the baby was crying. balling her heart out.

It was another one of those star-trek moments. Time slowed down, yet within seconds Police were on the scene. He was hit a few times with a baton and arrested (and possibly maced I cant remember)

As we took in the gravity of the whole situation. Ian turned pale. He looked at me and I could tell instantly he would need me to say something to re-assure him. He made dead-level eye contact. "I'm cut". He slowly lifted his hand and sure enough he had cuts and grazes on his hand. I looked at mine. I was grazed, but not cut.

It was another three months before Ian got the all clear from the hospital. Three months of worry. For a skinny lad he lost weight. Three months of not being able to have sex with his ultra-supportive girlfriend.

We went on the biggest bender once he got the all clear.
(Thu 14th Feb 2008, 16:02, More)

Shirley Bindun yet?
My hamster loved going for a ride in the car. So one day we are about to set off, when my Partner says he needs to go to the loo. For some unknown reason we leave the keys in the ignation. I decided to grab a drink of the clear stuff (Gin)

Well, the little scamp had figured out how to turn the car on, and move off! After reaching record breaking speeds (well, for a hamster) he crashed.

And spent 6 weeks in hostpital, making a remarkable recovery from possible brain damage

and the cruel part? I put the nail on the road, which caused the car to swerve to the right and land upside down.

Joey Deacon...
In the 1980's there was a chap called Joey Deacon who, became the face of The Spastics Soceity. He made his appearence on nationhal television in the hope of bringing around the Great British public that he was just like everybody else.

The next day, in school, loud chants of "JOEY" became the classic insult. ahhh the 1980's, how I miss it, none of this PC bollocks.
(Thu 4th Oct 2007, 13:13, More)

It would have to be a signed picture from The Arsenal Double Winning team of 1971
and one from Circa 1950 with a massive scrap book dating back to 1930

and the reason why (asides from being a Gooner) is how I came to own these.

Mr Williams was an old fella down my road, who continually looked out for me and my sister when we were playing in the street. a kind, tall genetleman, with a glass eye and white hair. A collection of canes, and tweed Jackets, he was a typical English gent. In his 80's, he died a few months back. Totally unexpected, he was a picture of health and stood for everything that was and still is right with this country.

An RAF pilot, he and his team were known as the Bryl Cream Boys for having their hair slicked back with gel and being a hit with the ladies. He shot down the Nazi's, and defended this country from the racial biggots wanting to invade us.

He was also one hell of a story teller making it seem like you were there, you could literally imagine scenes acting out infront of you. We would discuss at length the week's Arsenal games and the rest of the Premiership, what's happening at the club.

He would tell me in great detail of the games he saw starring players and managers from everyteam and games I have only read about (Charlie George, George Best, Pat Rice, Herbert Chapman). One of the greatest stories was The English World Cup win on 1966. The way he descibed the atmosphere of the game, the country, and the decade it was brilliant.

One day I came home from work. Mum told me he'd died. It was a weird feeling to know that someone i'd known my entire life had suddenly passed away. Sure i've gone through family deaths, one particularly traumatic, but this was a feeing of: Its unexpected, but he lived life to the full and have done stuff i'd only ever read about or would never even dream of doing.

We'd gone around to see his Wife that evening. In her this Newcastle accent she said "Oh chuck, i've gorrot summat for' ya'" and disappeared for a few mins. "Fred, he said he wanted you to have this" and produced a 6x4 grainey black and white photograph and a colour 8x6 photo. "He said you would want these, and he carrnt think of a better home for these, he said "

Those pics are framed in my room, and i'm going to leave them to my nephew.